For a woman who managed to cry during the movie Kung Fu Hustle, I can be horribly unsentimental about some things.
At Christmas, for example, I take down my tree at 12:01 a.m. Dec. 26th. I never buy my son's official school photo. I toss old momentos without flinching just because I'm weary of having them.
So when a friend expressed horror that I hadn't yet been to a bookstore to actually SEE my new novel on the shelves, I wasn't surprised. Apparently it is a rite of passage for an author - like viewing the body. Honestly, it hadn't even occured to me to do it, but today, in honor of my life list, I did.
I went to a local bookstore where they had a nice, fat stack of my books on the New Fiction table. I even offered to autograph them - which the manager was delighted to have me do.
While I was in the store, I saw a woman walk up to the fiction table, pick up my book, read the flap and clearly consider it for a long time. Although she eventually put it down, I sensed her regret. She'll be back, I thought smugly. And then I realized there was something kind of thrilling about seeing someone with my book in their hands. I nearly teared up.
Then again, maybe I was just remembering that touching scene in Kung Fu Hustle.
